In his wooden chair,
so he could stare out the window-
he didn’t trust his legs these days.
Staring outwards
like he’d done in his youth,
elbows resting against the sill,
head cupped in his hands,
thumbs fingering his jaw bone.
She’d liked his jaw.
He remembered her in colors and noise.
The sound of her feet at his door,
the red of her dress absorbing all other colours
in the living room.
Then much later pale grays and whites.
They always came at six,
though too dark for staring out his window
he’d keep his back to the door arched and tense,
shuddering with memory every time he heard
the nurse’s feet walking to his door.
Author notes
Written April 22nd, 2006
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Comments
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well done
Well being a CNA i can relate to this , more so. This is almost all that are there. You did a great job with this write. Touches me inside and out. Thanks for sharing such talent. God Bless
Victoria -
This is really good write, really enjoyed your use of language and the flow of this - so sad to think that older people live in such awful situations and without their memories they would have nothing left -
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Quite a sad write really as this man remembers the good in his past and the not so good of his present. Easy to read and understand.
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oh great write! I love the perspective it comes from. Especially the line "The red of her dress absorbing all other colours..." that just seems beautiful to me, I can completely imagine someone in a dress like that, where all other colors pale in comparison. Its some great imagery you've put in there! Great right.
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